Crowning
Moments

Before
I get started, let me remind you that the AGM is but a couple of
weeks hence and there are amazing opportunities for gifted
individuals who pass the stringent psychometric and intelligence (I
know, there won’t be many) tests to bid for power and influence
by putting themselves forward for a position on the committee. Couple
of points here – the work is not onerous and largely consists
of swanning around at Hashes advising lesser mortals that, “I’m
a committee member you know” and every now and again attending
a ‘committee meeting’ which consists of agreeing with
everything that everyone else says for about an hour, followed by
tucking in to delicious grub, swilling beer and laughing ‘til
your sides hurt. In the post-Olympic and current Paralympic glow of
volunteering why not give it a go? Email or chat to any of the
outgoing committee members and bask in the knowledge that you’re
helping BH3, one of the most successful, long-standing Hashes, to
continue with its success.

Appropriately enough we
got ‘reigned’ on as we stood around chatting before the
Hash. The clouds lowered, greyness rushed across the sky. It did not
bode well for a dry Trail. But, luckily, it cleared a little as we
formed what passes in BH3 as a Circle. Having enjoyed
Simple’s introduction to the evening’s festivities during
which he lauded the landlord and landlady of the pub who, having
bought the pub only three week’s ago knowing nothing about our
event but had agreed to open the pub on the Bank Holiday day when
they thought they could put their feet up, we were handed over to the
Hares, the lady of the duo making little sense with her Harriete
instructions which prompted Donut to ask loudly, “What the hell
does that mean?” That might be one of the longest sentences
ever written in the Gobsheet. Bernard Levin, eat your heart out.

We
On Outed across the road, me trotting with the running wounded group
which consisted of Shitfor (groin strain), Desperate, HP and
NappyRash (all knackered from a nine mile run from the day before). I
was suffering from the effects of an inspirational but eaten far too
late in the afternoon Donut meal. No, not eating doughnuts, but a
large portion of spicy chicken and assorted good-for-you vegetables
chef’d by the good lady. Interestingly, it was RandyMandy who
suffered a stitch during the Trail, rather than me. Rather fortunate,
I felt, in an ungentlemanly moment.

It was RandyMandy who
powered up one of the first real hills across a rolled field to a
rather greener one where we stood gasping at the top. “On
Hare!” shrieked a number of Hashers gleefully as a real hare
bounced, long-legged and bristle-whiskered in a rapid zig-zag across
it. The Hash actually split here with the stupid (myself included)
stonking all the way round the far edge of the 100-acre while the
sensible (including Cerberus and, surprisingly, Billy) skipped
lightly round the short edge to where we would join them. We puffed
and heaved. They grinned and breathed easily. At least Hare Rampant
supported the longer trekkers though with a somewhat wry smile. We
entered the woods once again and were tripping along a muddy track
when Blind Pew was attacked by a killer rabbit. The grey, furry beast
shot out in front of him, scut bouncily cockily, attempted a swift
gnash with its incisors at his left running shoe, decided rapidly it
wasn’t very fond of cheese and zipped into the bushes, nose
wrinkling disapprovingly. I could understand where it was coming
from. An aged running shoe filled with a BlindPew foot covered in a
sock of indeterminate heritage would not be something I would regard
as a gastronomic titbit. Even Heston Blumenthal would struggle to
make something of it.

Slowsucker disappeared
down a little road, closely followed by Mr Blobby and Slowsucker. A
fold of smoke rolled across where he had gone, prompting Mr Blobby to
observe that perhaps our friend had spontaneously combusted,
something he is known to do if you splash him with shiggy. Go on. Try
it. You’ll be amused by the results. Fortunately, all three had
just wandered down a False and soon returned to join the rest of us
as we fetched up at the Regroup where loitered such itinerants as
Skids, Simple and Bogbrush. After a pretty fair hack to get here
everyone was expecting there to be a Long and Short split. But this
is a Dunny and Rampant Trail and, of course, everyone is always
encouraged on their Trails to fully participate in the enjoyment of
the entire route. We duly conformed to the expectations, hoping that
the rest of the damn thing wasn’t quite as hard going as the
first part. Fat chance! This is hilly, rolling countryside, beautiful
from a helicopter, a little more challenging on foot. But perfectly
beautiful nonetheless. We slipped past fields of excited horses. Down
huge slopes with lovely views. Up bloody great big, slippery, muddy
hills. Through darkling woodland. Donut, to her imense surprise,
found herself FRBing right at the front of the Pack for all of three
minutes before that true gent Slowsucker took her out like Mo Farah
slipping past, well, almost anybody. He gave her a swift ‘Mobot’
and planked off into the woods.

After finding Mrs
Blobby and Utopia slightly lost in the forest we stonked down yet
another steep slope before heaving up the other side with Dunny in
tow. The ‘On Inn’ appeared. Hurrah! And it was just
beginning to rain. We stepped wearily towards, then into the
welcoming pub.

Many thanks to our
Hares for a quite magnificent, if exhausting, Trail.

On On. Hashgate.

Down
Downs

RA C5 quietly presented the following
due to a ninety four year old and a dog trying to sleep upstairs. The
‘Down Down’ song was sung with a hushed reverence inside
the pub (it was raining cats and dogs outside) which gave it a
pleasant, almost choir-like timbre. Very nice – we should do it
more often. Though the ‘Twenty Toes’ ditty sounded a
little strange… :-